Sammy Summons a Demon
by Dextolan
Summary: John is busy to say the least. Hunting is a priority but his boys have to come first. He often forgets and his four-year-old son gets an unexpected bedtime story.


**(Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters) **

**Hi. You might not have seen my name around here unless you enjoy criminal minds FanFiction.**

**This is my first time writing a supernatural fic and I love young Sam and dean and protective John.**

**This is just a thing I thought of and knew I had to write.**

**Dean is 8 and Sam is 4. (Also, let's pretend summoning a demon is easier... I.e a spell can do it.)**

**I will also be posting this on AO3 under the same name.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

"Sammy up to bed. Come on, we have to get going tomorrow."

Sam twisted his bare foot into the rug, his hands going behind his back as he swayed.

"Can you read me a story?" he mumbled. John sighed when big brown eyes gazed up at him. He was trying not to give in to the four-year-old's childish whims, but it was hard when the kid cracked out his puppy dog eyes.

"Bed, Sam," he said, pointing at the stairs.

Dean walked down the hall as Sam started to trudge toward the stairs.

"You too, Dean," John said, going back to cleaning the barrels of his gun.

Dean paused and looked into the living room. He scowled at his father.

"It's not my bedtime."

"Go put Sammy to bed then I want you to get to sleep too. We have a busy day tomorrow, Dean. Now get your ass up there." John didn't look up and so didn't see the unhappy expression on his oldest son's face.

"Yes, sir," muttered Dean, turning toward the stairs. "Night, Bobby!" he called into the kitchen where the older-man was scrubbing dishes.

"See ya in the mornin', kiddo!"

Dean walked to the top of the stairs and huffed. He loved his brother but Dean wasn't a baby, he could stay up later than Sam.

"Put Sammy to bed Dean," Dean grumbled, shuffling toward the room he shared with Sam. "Get to bed, Dean... this sucks."

He got to their room and saw Sam sat in the middle of his bed (closest to the window,) his legs curled like a pretzel. He smiled but the older boy ignored him as he grabbed his change of clothes.

"Dean, will _you_ read me a story?"

Dean pulled off his top and slipped on the one he wore to bed. He glanced back at Sam and shook his head.

"It's late, Sam," he said, not believing his own words. It was barely past seven. Sam sat up on his knees.

"But I'm not even tired! See!" Sam opened his eyes really wide to prove his point but Dean took no notice.

"You heard dad, Sammy. Under the covers."

Sam pouted but pulled up the sheets.

He paused, his fingers tangling in the bedsheets. He heard Dean shuffle around and after a few more moments Sam turned to look at him. He watched the older boy hitch a pair of sweatpants up and unstuck his top.

"Dean?"

Dean looked over at Sam to see him biting his bottom lip.

"Sleep, Sam."

"B-but I wanted a story..." Sam looked down at his pillowcase as Dean rolled his eyes.

"Dad'll read you one tomorrow. Unless you want him on your ass, get to sleep!"

Dean got into bed not long after. He looked over at Sam who was gazing at the ceiling. He was too frustrated to try and console the boy so he turned on his other side and closed his eyes.

* * *

Sam tried to sleep he really did but every time he closed his eyes they'd force themselves open.

He gave up entirely when the whole house had gone quiet. He kicked off the covers, the hand-me-down plaid pyjama's ruffling up at his feet.

He turned to face Dean but the boy had his back to him, his breaths coming out evenly.

"Deanie?" he whispered, his lips trembling in the dark. As expected, Dean didn't react.

Sam sat up and bit down hard on his lip.

He wanted something to read. John only carried three books, one full of bedtime stories, one in Latin and his diary. Sam had read every story in the bedtime stories book and he wasn't allowed near the diary.

Sam sat there for a moment, thinking hard. Uncle Bobby had a lot of books. Sam knew he did since they were piled all around the house. Sam smiled to himself, pushing his bangs out of his eyes.

He was sure there'd be something cool to read in one of Bobby's books.

Sam slipped out of his and Dean's room without disturbing his brother. When he looked back Dean had his eyes closed and his mouth parted slightly in sleep. Sam stuck his tongue out when he saw a thin spiel of drool connecting Dean and his pillow.

Sam tip-toed down the stairs, his little feet making no sound on the old wood. He got to the bottom and glanced into the living room. The lamp was still on and his father's guns were laid out on the table, freshly cleaned.

Sam walked past before hopping into the room with all the books. He smiled at all the different books piled up like the drawings he saw in Dr Seuss' books. He really loved coming to see Bobby, his house was-

"Awesome," Sam mumbled.

There were still some lit candles dotted around the room and Sam fought the urge to blow them out. He wasn't allowed near flames unless it was a candle on a birthday cake. John had only let him have one measly candle on his last birthday before throwing the useless wax stick in the trash.

Sam looked around in the candle's glow. He couldn't decide which book to go with.

Sam jumped over to the big desk and fumbled around on his tip-toes. He couldn't quite reach the books so he turned and scanned the room for others. His eyes landed on a huge book left out on a small side-table. Sam grinned and hurried over to it. He reached his thin arms up and grabbed the big book, stumbling backward a little as he heaved it into his arms. He managed to catch himself and he looked down at his prize.

The cover was worn and tired but Sam could read the parts of the title. 'Demon's and Degenerates.' The rest of the writing had been worn away.

Sam opened the big book, wobbling on his short legs for a moment. The writing was all swirly and Sam thought it was handwritten. He turned a page and saw an illustration of a person. He cocked his head, squinting at the picture before his neck pulled back sharply. The man in the picture had black eyes.

Sam swallowed nervously, glancing over his shoulder as if there was a black-eyed man behind him. When he realised the hall was empty he took a step further into the room and slowly plunked his backside on the floor. The flickering candles sent light down to his spot as he lay the book out on his small thighs.

He turned the next page and saw a symbol printed there. He ran his fingers over it, wondering what it meant. He flipped the page, looking for a story. There were words on this page. Sam realised it was in Latin.

"Hmmm," he murmured, pursing his lips as he tried to speak the words inside his head. He had heard his dad practice Latin a lot. He'd even seen the Latin book and knew from Dean's butchered attempts and John's corrections how to pronounce some words.

Sam started to mumble the words to himself, seeking a story out within the jumble. He made it down to the bottom of the paragraph and turned the page. There was another picture but no more words. Sam turned back to the words and attempted to say it again.

Maybe if he said it enough then he would understand.

This time, when he got to the end there was a sudden sizzling sound.

Sam raised a hand up to shield his eyes when a bright light appeared before him.

It was over as soon as it started. Sam kept his chubby fingers over his eyes. He was panting hard, his shoulders shaking when he heard a grumbling sound. He pulled a finger away and peeked though the rest. He dropped his hands suddenly at what he thought he saw and whimpered when his suspicions were true and he saw a strange man stood in front of him.

The man looked down at the book on Sam's lap and then back at the kid, his lips curling into a sneer.

"How adorable," the man said.

"W-who are you?" Sam whispered. He blinked up at the man, wondering where the he'll he came from. He was wearing all black except for a crimson tie. Sam thought he looked pretty cool especially since he just appeared out of nowhere.

"I'm Crowley," the man replied, looking Sam up and down. "And who might you be? And how did a baby moose like you summon me?"

Sam frowned at the name Crowley used. "I'm not a moose," he retorted. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"From that floppy hair you could pass. I think you're going to be _pretty _tall too, your arms are already too long."

Sam patted his hair self-consciously and he frowned at Crowley.

"If you really don't like that name then you should tell me another one."

Sam looked conflicted before he mumbled, "I'm Sam... Sam Winchester."

Crowley seemed intrigued by that. His eyebrows shot up and his smile grew.

"A Winchester? What's you father's name, Sam?"

Sam pressed his lips together, eyeing Crowley suspiciously. "I don't think I should tell you that, mister," he said.

"Why not? I thought we were friends, moose?" Crowley said with a pout. A flash of guilt crossed Sam's face and he looked back into the dark hall.

"How about I make this easy," said Crowley. "Is Daddy called John?"

Sam took a step back at the man's guess. "How did you do that?"

Crowley chuckled. "Oh, we know a lot about your father, Sam. So why is John Winchester's son summoning me?"

"I didn't... you just appeared," Sam said, he felt a strange feeling surge within him; he felt sweaty and as if he was literally filling up with dread.

Crowley smirked and said "that's what happens when you summon a demon, moose. Poof, magic, I appear."

Sam's tongue felt thick all of a sudden. "Demon?!" he squeaked. Daddy said those things were bad... _really_ bad.

"Bingo," said Crowley, bending down to look Sam in the eyes.

"So what are you doing, summoning little old me?"

Sam gripped the book tight as Crowley's eyes suddenly flipped, a sleek black taking their place.

Sam screamed, realising the scary black-eyed man in the book had come to life. Crowley laughed and straightened up.

"That party-trick always goes down well," he said, more to himself.

"Go away!" Sam cried. He backed away from Crowley. "My daddy and uncle will get you."

"But, Sam, you _invited_ me."

"Sam!"

Sam turned his head toward the familiar voice and saw his father. He was wearing shabby pyjamas and he looked exhausted but he still had a gun raised and aimed at Crowley.

Crowley grinned down at Sam, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "That's my cue, mini-Moose. See you around."

John fired, starting Sam. The shot went clean through the air and into the drywall on the other side of the room.

Bobby was suddenly there too and there were frantic steps and floorboard creeks upstairs.

John bolted to his youngest son and pulled him into an embrace. Sam was sniffling from the sound of the gun and he trembled in John's arms. John pressed his lips to Sam's forehead whispering 'thank yous' to God.

"Dad! What's going on?" Dean looked around the room with squinting eyes, still sore from sleep. Bobby saw the book on the floor and he staggered forward to grab it.

"What the hell was that?" he said, glaring at John who released Sam and held him back by his shoulders.

"A demon," John whispered. He looked from the book to Bobby before both men's gazes fell to Sam. The young-boy felt his face drop and his eyes water. He knew he was in trouble now.

"What happened, Sammy?" asked John in a quiet voice. Sam sniffed hard and a sudden sob broke past his lips. He reached up and slapped the tears away.

"I didn't mean to, daddy," he mumbled. Bobby looked back down at the book and his jaw set tightly.

"Did you read something in this book?"

Sam looked up at Bobby with sparkling eyes before slowly nodding. Bobby closed his eyes briefly and felt his teeth grind together.

"This isn't for children, Sam," Bobby snapped. Sam looked down and sniffed, tears falling onto his hands which were wringing together.

John looked at his son in disbelief.

"Did you read something... that wasn't in English?" John asked and Sam nodded again. Over his head John and Bobby shared a look of dismay.

Bobby slammed the book shut.

"How could he be such an idjit!"

"Bobby," Dean said, warning the older man.

"Not now, Dean," said John who shook his son a little so he'd look up at him.

"What were you thinking, Sam?"

Sam stared at his father, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I-I..." he looked over at Bobby who was grumbling about summoning demons. It was the look of anger and disappointment in his father's face that had Sam falling into heavy sobs. "Bedtime story..." Sam wailed, smacking at his eyes as tears came flooding in.

Dean grimaced at the door. How could anyone be mad at Sammy? He'd only wanted someone to read to him.

"Damn it," John hissed and he turned his glare on Bobby. "Why can't you put this crap away?!"

Sam sobbed harder but John still held him at arms length.

Bobby dropped the book on his desk and turned sharply on John.

"This is my house, Winchester. Maybe if you weren't so neglectful-"

"Don't say another word," snarled John, his fingers digging into Sam's shoulder blades. "He's too young to-"

"Dad, Bobby! Stop," Dean yelled over the adults. He stepped cautiously into the room, as if the demon were about to spring up on him. "Who cares. Sam didn't mean to, alright? Lay off." He spoke quietly, unsure of himself. He wasn't meant to talk back.

Sam was wailing at that point and John's grip on his shoulder loosened.

"Sammy-" he started but Sam managed to writhe away from him and run to Dean. The younger brother grabbed Dean around the waist and clung to him.

"Dean!" he cried, rubbing his face into Dean's top. Dean quickly lifted his brother into his arms, holding him close.

"It's okay, Sammy."

John watched his boys for a moment before scrubbing a hand down his tired face.

"What're we gonna do, John?" Bobby asked quietly as John pushed himself to his feet.

"We're leaving," muttered John and he walked over to Dean. "Give me, Sammy. Get his and your things and go to the car."

"But-," Dean started as he let his dad take Sam and put him on his hip.

"That's an order, son."

* * *

**I apologise if it's rushed I was just so excited about posting.**

**Please review. Let me know if you'd like to see more because I'm not sure whether to leave it as a one-shot or not.**


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